Nine syllable titles
serve to serve
dinner for lunch.
A full fish,
a pound of carrots,
seventeen tons
of stone.
Chop them up,
minced if you can,
and stir, stir,
stir in a cumquat and
a hundred kiwi
fruit. When your
slurry has worried
its way beyond gray,
consider yourself
in play. Five cards
will be dealt, and
you will get to
pick three more.
In your hand of
eight, if each card
is not an ace or an
eight, you'll have to
eat, uncooked, every
ounce you have
prepared. If you
refuse, you will experience
the nausea that comes from
freedom with the word No.
You'll find yourself on the wind,
hungry, yes, and flying toward
the sun without the risk
that your nearness might
melt your wax. Lightness
alone will be your wings.
Roman Ryan 